


powdered sugar

by archaeologies



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: M/M, i'm tagging that twice ig, maskshipping - Freeform, ygo tags and ships are still so much to get my head around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 05:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologies/pseuds/archaeologies
Summary: it's probably selfish, but yusuke does it anyway.





	powdered sugar

There’s a certain honey-brown to Tenjoin Fubuki. It drips from his lips when he flashes that golden smile and falls from his fringe when the setting sun hits him from behind, covering him in a gentle glaze. Not that he needs the help of the sun to shine like that - Tenjoin Fubuki casts a light all of his own, and Fujiwara Yusuke has never felt warmer than when he gets to bask in the edges of it. 

He finds no juxtaposition in Fubuki’s name and his demeanor. Fubuki is in every way the blizzard he calls himself; he’s an all-encompassing storm that Yusuke finds himself swept up in and blinded by. Fubuki just also happens to blaze with a burning passion and wit and enthusiasm that causes him to gleam like the sea on a summer evening, bubbling with a bright and fiery radiance, even from underneath a layer of cold, icy glass. But that aside, winter is when the sun is at it’s most beautiful, Yusuke thinks, and also when it’s needed the most. The way it bounces in kind waves from sheets of glistening snow, the way it seems to hit your very core - that kind of sun, the sun with rays that pierce all the way through to the centre of your being, and lets your insides froth in some kind of steamy comfort that starts at your stomach and spreads through your chest, keeping you safe and soft from inside out, is the kind of sun Tenjoin Fubuki most resembles. So the warmth doesn’t feel out of place with his frozen name, even for one second.  

Yusuke doesn’t find warmth like that often. Not anymore. His thoughts and feelings have started to numb - or maybe they’ve been numb for an awfully long time and he just hasn’t realised until now - and the corners of his mind disperse into chill winds and mists. He thinks through fog, hazy and cold and certain of one thing and one thing alone; that Fujiwara Yusuke is not someone permanent, not someone substantial, not someone who will last forever, and certainly not someone who deserves to. 

Had Tenjoin Fubuki not already immortalised himself in Duel Academia’s eyes through the talent that rivaled Marufuji Ryo, then his eccentric nature would put him in the school’s history just as fast. Tenjoin Fubuki is somehow everything; ice and sun wrapped up into one, smiling and cheerful and carefree but observant enough to counter your reverse card and sharp enough to always meet your gaze when he feels your eyes wander to the back of his head during a lecture. 

(Or maybe that last one is reserved just for Yusuke. They both know he does it enough.)

It’s probably selfish for someone like him to want and touch Tenjoin Fubuki so eagerly, to press his chapped lips against soft skin, to find his aching hands wrapped in featherlight hair. It’s selfish for someone who knows all this is worthless, that he’ll be forgotten and thrown aside and left alone again, to cling so tightly to someone so real, someone so constant and definite, to whisper promises in breathy tones that won’t be remembered by the time they are broken, to pretend that someone who barely exists can mean something to someone like Tenjoin Fubuki. 

Yusuke does it anyway. 

Forgetting isn’t at the back of his mind when he’s with Fubuki. He wants to savour every second of it, to remember every touch, taste, every hitch at the back of his throat, every word and everything that passes for words between them. His heartbeat, their heartbeats, are so loud and real and undeniably there that there’s no way any part of Yusuke can try to convince himself that this won’t last forever, that it won’t stick in their minds, that it can be erased and covered up and hidden. It’s not because they’re together; the knowledge that Yusuke is going to be forgotten doesn’t discriminate, and hangs heavy on his chest just as easy when he’s surrounded by people as when he is alone. Maybe there’s just something in that moment, in being with Fubuki, that makes it feel like forever. And if he’s found forever, found infinity, in the touches that pass between them, in the spaces they create together, then Fujiwara Yusuke can’t ever really not exist, can he? 

Fubuki presses kisses, cold and crystalline, to Yusuke’s burning neck. They fall soft, still, sporadically, like snow, or powdered sugar. 


End file.
